A lot about El Gaucho sounds promising, at first; this local chain aims for something between Morton’s and an Argentine steakhouse, grilling dry-aged beef over coals. But the steaks are inconsistent—the char on some cuts is wonderfully crisp, but a totally flavorless six-ounce filet is not at all worthwhile—and prices are sky-high. The wine list is more interesting than the ones at most national-chain steakhouses, but it is also amazingly overpriced, with some bottles over three times retail.

El Gaucho used to be a bigger part of Seattle’s dining scene; for a brief period it was synonymous with a swanky night out, with dancing in the Pampas Room and a stay at the affiliated boutique hotel upstairs creating a sophisticated escape on a very sketchy corner of Belltown. But even then, the food and execution couldn’t fully justify the prices.

The décor is as expected—rich, dark, and sleek. Live jazz fills in the silences between tinkling glasses and silverware as tuxedo-clad waiters scurry by with carts for tableside Caesar salads, the darkness punctuated by an occasional burst of flame from a bananas Foster in the making. El Gaucho is more like dinner theater, where the food is not the point. There, too, you pay way too much for the antics and scenery.